


Ideal Partner

by summerofspock



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Awkward Sexual Situations, Blow Jobs, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Cunnilingus, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Enthusiastic Consent, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Lingerie, M/M, Moving In Together, Pining, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Apocalypse, Praise Kink, Rimming, Sex Positive, Sexual Experimentation, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), not entirely vanilla, trying to tag this has been wild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-08-14 04:21:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20186170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock
Summary: “Would you like to explain why you’re watching pornography? In your bookshop? During business hours?”Aziraphale flaps his hand, typically dismissive of any criticisms of his abysmal business practices. “Did you know I’ve been on this earth for nearly 6 millennia and have never engaged in intercourse before?”Crowley grinds his teeth and feels his cheeks heat. What is he supposed to say to that?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> entirely inspired by[ ineffable-feels horrifying (and hilarious) post on tumblr about aziraphale watching porn](https://ineffable-feels.tumblr.com/post/186889503313/ineffable-feels-ineffable-feels-i-guess-hes)

Ever since the thwarted apocalypse there had been a shift in Crowley’s relationship with Aziraphale. He can’t quite put his finger on it but if he had to explain he would use the following series of examples.

Before, Crowley was almost always the one to reach out; tempt to lunch here, bribe with a bottle of wine there. But now, Aziraphale calls him every other day or so and they get dinner or go to the theater or they end up back at Aziraphale’s bookshop chattering about the same old nonsense. It’s gotten to the point where it’s almost..._ domestic. _

And it’s giving Crowley the willies.

Not that he hasn’t been desperate for something exactly like this for _ years _ (alright, millennia), but he has no idea _ why._

Is it Aziraphale saying, ah yes we can finally be proper friends? Or is it something more like, now that I don’t have a heavenly assignment, I’ve gotten rather bored?

By mutual agreement, they slowed down on the use of their powers, not wanting to draw attention from Above or Below for the time being, and Crowley supposed it had made things a little dull. He isn’t going speeding through downtown London or popping over to Germany for those chocolates Aziraphale likes. Instead he’s stuck in London limited by typical human transportation and trying to find new ways to entertain himself that aren’t demonic in nature.

Though he still tosses in a little mischief just for fun. He isn’t about to give it up entirely.

And while he understands boredom acutely, he’s entirely unprepared to walk into Aziraphale’s bookshop on a Tuesday and hear the telltale sound of _ sex _ echoing from the backroom. Passionate moans and grunts and the slap of skin.

He stumbles and knocks over a pile of books.

Drawn like a moth to a very disastrous flame, he feels himself pulled across the bookshop to stand in the door to Aziraphale’s office only to find the angel sitting at his desk and staring at his computer screen in consternation. A busty blonde gasps as an ugly muscled man pushes in and—

Startling at Crowley’s sudden presence, Aziraphale looks over at him and immediately brightens. “Crowley! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

The only thing that Crowley can manage is “What are you _ doing_?”

He sounds unbearably stupid even to his own ears but whatever burst of embarrassment he should feel doesn’t register over the continued noises coming from the computer.

“Ah,” Aziraphale says wiggling in his seat and only then does Crowley notice the spread of magazines and books in front of him. _ Playboy_, the _ Kama Sutra_, what look to be honest-to-satan _ print outs_, all of naked people in compromising positions.

“Do you know what pornography is?” Aziraphale asks and then shakes his head as if he’s being silly. “Of course you do. I’m an angel and _ I know_, of course a demon does.”

_ Ah-ah-ah, yeah, fuck, just like that. _

Crowley covers his face with his hands and grits out, “Can you turn that _ off_?”

With a click of the mouse, the room falls into silence. 

“Would you like to explain why you’re watching pornography? In your bookshop? During business hours?”

Aziraphale flaps his hand, typically dismissive of any criticisms of his abysmal business practices. “Did you know I’ve been on this earth for nearly 6 millennia and have never engaged in intercourse before?"

Crowley grinds his teeth and feels his cheeks heat. What is he supposed to _ say _ to that?

“I realized that now, since we’re more or less living as humans, there’s so much left to try. I already like the food and the drink but I’ve found myself curious about this sex business. Have you tried it?”

With every passing second Crowley feels like the floor is collapsing deeper and deeper as he tries to find his footing in this horrifying conversation. “Once or twice,” he says. It's only sort of a lie because he tried it by himself a few times but stopped because he thought Aziraphale would somehow _ know _about the images that played in Crowley’s head when he masturbated. Soft angel hips and curling blond hair.

“Was it good? It seems to bring humans an awful lot of pleasure.”

“‘S alright,” he manages, shrugging his shoulders and Aziraphale scowls.

“That’s what you say about cheesecake. Sometimes I think you’re no judge of things.”

“I don’t know, angel. What do you want me to say?”

Aziraphale huffs. “Well alright, then I suppose I’ll have to try it out myself.”

The abject horror that Crowley feels at the mere of idea of anyone besides him touching Aziraphale, being close to Aziraphale, hearing those noises like ah-ah-ah—

“With a human?” Crowley asks incredulously instead of anything more incriminating.

Aziraphale’s scowl deepens. “Of course not. That’s far too risky. I’m already in hot water with Heaven and fornicating with humans is _ extremely _frowned upon.”

Crowley snorts in acknowledgment and tries to piece together what that could possibly mean. If not humans then— 

“I was actually hoping you’d be interested in trying it out,” Aziraphale says, some of his frustration giving way to that bright twinkling expression he gets at the prospect of trying something new. Though it's usually reserved for trying the newest restaurant on the block. “Especially if you’ve already done it. You can show me the ropes, so to speak.”

Something slithers up Crowley’s spine and he has the distinct fear that he might lose control of himself and become a very snake-shaped puddle. He takes a deep breath and says, “Alright.”

Which is the exact opposite of what he meant to say.

Aziraphale claps his hands and grows somehow brighter. “How delightful!” he says and then stands, taking Crowley’s hand— have Crowley’s hands always sweat like this? Very inconvenient—and dragging him upstairs.

“Right now?” Crowley squeaks and Aziraphale looks back at him amused.

“What? It’s not like we have other plans. Assignments to get to or what have you.”

Which is how they end up on Aziraphale’s bed, clearly rarely used, a small thing with a tartan duvet that barely surprises Crowley at this point.

And while Crowley thought he knew what to expect, he still almost jumps out of his skin when Aziraphale’s fingers come up to his waistcoat and start tugging at the buttons. “What are you doing?” Crowley asks sharply and Aziraphale fixes him with one of his patented long suffering looks.

“Undressing you. Did you think we were going to do this fully clothed? Seems like it would be much less interesting.”

Crowley swallows and tries to relax as Aziraphale slides off his coat and then his vest, leaving him only in his gray shirt and jeans and feeling hopelessly hot about the collar.

Aziraphale pulls back and looks at him expectantly. When Crowley just stares at him, he huffs and starts undoing his bow tie. The motion, swift and practiced, draws Crowley back into himself and unbidden his hands go to Aziraphale’s own waistcoat, opening it slowly. 

Crowley falls into the memories of thinking about exactly this moment. Tugging off Aziraphale’s clothes, putting his mouth on Aziraphale’s neck, rolling the soft folds of the angel’s body in has hands. Warm and delicious and perfect.

Aziraphale smiles at him and Crowley could almost categorize it as a smirk but before he can the expression is replaced by one of intense focus, pink tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he tries to unbutton Crowley’s pants. The scrape of his fingers against the part of his body that Crowley so rarely thinks about causes a spark in his belly, shocking and hot before Aziraphale pulls his hands away in frustration. “Can you take those ridiculous things off?”

Crowley laughs, surprised at himself for being able to make such a _ normal _ sound while this unbelievable thing is happening, but he does what he knows best and obeys Aziraphale’s request.

After he’s shimmied out of his jeans, Aziraphale gives him an appraising look. “I’m surprised we haven’t seen each naked before. Or have we?” he asks, suddenly distracted as he looks down at the duvet.

“This is hardly the time, Aziraphale,” Crowley grates out, starting to feel a bit uncomfortable in just a t-shirt while Aziraphale is still dressed in his pressed shirt and trousers.

“Right,” Aziraphale says, returning his attention to Crowley and settling his hands on the demon’s thighs.

Trying to focus, Crowley undoes Aziraphale’s shirt and gives a little frustrated groan when he encounters an undershirt. “How many layers are you wearing?” he asks.

“Not all of us go about without underpants on.”

Crowley grunts, indignant, but not indignant enough to respond as he undoes Aziraphale’s belt and in a fit of inspiration, pushes him back onto the pillows to pull off his trousers and underwear.

Aziraphale’s legs are dusted in dark blonde hair, thicker about the shins and thinning as Crowley skates his gaze up to Aziraphale’s hips where the roll of his stomach settles over his pelvis looking as good as Crowley had always dreamed.

“Take off your shirt,” Aziraphale demands, breaking the moment. 

“Only if you do too,” he says back before sitting on his heels to tug off his last article of clothing.

When he looks back down, he sees Aziraphale stretched out in nothing but his socks — of course his socks — looking very comfortable indeed and very unfortunately flaccid.

Crowley is _ not _ in the same situation and his cheeks burn at the thought that he’s so turned on and Aziraphale is just _ there, _looking at him.

Aziraphale sits up against the headboard and reaches out to take off Crowley’s glasses. “Seems a bit weird for you to keep them on,” he explains even as Crowley looks away.

He can feel Aziraphale’s gaze on him, assessing and cataloging or whatever that blasted angel brain is doing.

Patting the bed beside him, Aziraphale says, “Lay down, my dear. Let me look at you.”

Hesitantly, Crowley stretches out on the side of the bed closest to the wall, feeling very exposed, his erection pressing up against his stomach.

It’s been a very long time since Crowley has had an erection. Perhaps a century. And that had been one of those times when he’d tried on the whole masturbation thing for a moment so this is entirely uncharted water.

“How very fascinating,” Aziraphale breathes as he runs the back of his knuckles over Crowley’s clavicle, down his sternum where they come to a stop just below his ribs. It makes Crowley’s heart skitter in his chest and he’s not sure if he hates it or loves it. Which is really the story of his demonic existence at this point. 

“Can I touch your penis?” Aziraphale asks frankly, which absolutely shatters the romantic image Crowley had been building up in his mind until that moment.

“Please don’t say penis,” he says, closing his eyes with an irritated groan.

Aziraphale looks affronted. “What would you prefer? Dick? Member? Cock?”

And now the rest of Crowley’s face feels like it's burning. “Please no.”

“Well how are we going to do this if you won’t let me use words for your primary sex organ?”

And now it’s getting worse. Crowley resists the urge to cover his face. “How about you do what you want and I’ll stop you if I don’t like it.”

Aziraphale raises an eyebrow. “Fine but you better say something.”

And perhaps Aziraphale had the right of it because without warning he wraps his hand around Crowley’s cock and the demon nearly shoots of the bed in surprise. “Really, Crowley, calm down. You’re acting like I’m trying to murder you.”

Forcing himself to breathe normally, Crowley lays back down and tries to relax as Aziraphale runs his hand up and then down, twisting slightly at the base and making Crowley’s toes curl. 

“Did you like that?’ Aziraphale asks in a low voice, a quiet breath in his ear, and Crowley nods, certain he’ll make a fool of himself if he speaks. 

Aziraphale hums against his neck, body curled against Crowley’s side as he continues to move his hand for a few moments before abruptly pulling away. “Excuse me, I’ll be right back.”

And then Crowley is forced to watch the swing of Aziraphale’s pert little arse as he walks out of the bedroom. His cock pulses hopefully.

Returning after only a few moments with a bottle in his hand, Aziraphale holds it up with a toothy grin. “Lube!”

Crowley falls back against the pillows and can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of him. “How long have you been planning this?”

Aziraphale falls into a stance that Crowley knows well: his _ I’m about to tell a needlessly detailed story, please listen _ stance. “Well, I decided on Saturday to start researching the intercourse process. Positions, angles, types of genitalia and partner configuration. And when I wasn’t sure if I would be able to obtain a partner, I purchased lubricant with the intention of pursuing self-stimulation. However!” he says happily, “I realized on Sunday that you were an ideal partner. So here we are.”

While ideal partner is not exactly the most romantic declaration in context, it still makes Crowley’s heart flutter. “Very scientific of you,” Crowley deadpans and his sarcasm is missed by the angel who does a little happy wiggle on his way back to the bed.

After Aziraphale settles back down next to him, contemplating the bottle of lube, Crowley’s attention is drawn back to his still soft penis, nestled against his thigh and looking no more interested than it had 10 minutes ago.

Knowing that Aziraphale is about to go a bit wild — as he tends to do when excited — Crowley pushes his through his anxiety and lays a hand on Aziraphale’s hip which fits so well in his hand and is so warm that Crowley thinks he might drown in the surge of want that crashes into him.

“Angel,” he says. It’s a bit rough around the edges but he manages.

Looking up from the instructions label, Aziraphale meets his eyes and his brow furrows. “Yes, my dear?”

“Do you, er, need anything?” Crowley asks with a meaningful glance between them.

Aziraphale looks down and says, “Oh! I suppose I didn’t even think about that. I got a bit excited.”

Aziraphale stares at himself for a moment and then asks, “Well...how does it work? You seem to be doing just fine.”

Is he really about to have a conversation about the birds and the bees with an _ angel_? Who he has been in _ love with for centuries_? 

“Erm, are you not...are you not, er, interested?”

“What do you mean?” Aziraphale asks, looking at him blankly.

Crowley closes his eyes, both embarrassed and full of dread. How nice it is to have to ask your friend if they’re physically attracted to you. “You have to want me. Be aroused? Attracted? Ringing any bells?”

“Well, you are very attractive,” Aziraphale says as if it's obvious. “At least I’ve always thought so. And I feel like — looking at you is sort of like looking at the menu at the Ritz. A lot of options. All delicious.”

Crowley can’t stand the disgustingly sappy squirming thing his stomach is doing but he pushes through, “Where do you want to start?”

Aziraphale pulls back and one hand goes to Crowley’s upper arm, the tips of his fingers brushing his skin, as he looks over Crowley’s body once more. The strange feeling of exposure is still there but it's also warm and arousing and now Crowley knows Aziraphale _ likes _ looking. 

“Here,” Aziraphale says before leaning in and brushing his mouth over Crowley’s collarbone, the angel’s hand tightening around his elbow as he sucks in a breath through his nose. 

Crowley stays still as Aziraphale nuzzles his way down his chest, pausing to kiss each new patch of hair, his nipples, the divot of his sternum, the underside of ribs — which tickles but he bites his lip so Aziraphale will never find out about that particularly embarrassing tidbit. 

“Mmm, I was right. You are delicious,” Aziraphale murmurs, mouth still pressed against Crowley’s chest.

Crowley can only manage a strangled sound, the spring coiling inside him threatening release before he grasps Aziraphale and rolls the angel onto his back. “Your turn.”

Aziraphale pouts a little but it fades into a gasp when Crowley succumbs to the long buried urge to bite the place where Aziraphale’s neck meets his jaw. He licks over the light stubble, the acrid taste of aftershave mingling with something warm like cinnamon and brandy. Kicking one of Aziraphale’s legs out, he clambers over him, slotting his knee between the angel’s legs to align their bodies. When their chests press together, Crowley’s reptilian instincts scream _ warm, soft, sleep _ and the comfort of it suffuses him for a moment before the realization that it’s _ Aziraphale _ under him and the hands on his back are digging into his shoulder blades silently asking for more. And, well, he can’t say no to that.

Sinking down Aziraphale’s body, he conjures up all the images he ever played behind his eyes whenever he had experimented with his sexuality before. It had always been blonde hair, pink cheeks, breathy laughs and that sunshine warm feeling that Crowley can’t shake for _ days _ after seeing Aziraphale.

It’s no starting place, those impressions, so he tosses them aside and does what feels right.

Settled firmly between Aziraphale’s parted legs, Crowley tries to think objectively. It's a miserable enterprise given the way the angel is looking at him, soft eyes and parted lips and _ oh— _

Crowley runs his nails down Aziraphale’s shin and comes into contact with the rough fabric of his socks. Rolling his eyes he says, “I can’t believe I'm about to do this,” and then tugs off one brown sock and then the other before tossing them to the ground. 

Slithering all the way to the end of the bed he gives Aziraphale a dark look and says, “I am never taking off your socks again. Your responsibility from here on out.”

“Noted,” Aziraphale says and it sounds breathless and isn’t that something.

Crowley curls his left arm around Aziraphale’s leg and folds over him, kissing his ankle and then his shin, dragging his lips over the soft hair and delicate skin. With each inch Aziraphale’s breaths grow unsteadier and Crowley reaches up his right hand to grasp at Aziraphale’s hip as much as to feel him as steady him. 

He flicks his tongue over Aziraphale’s kneecap and is rewarded with a little hiss. Glancing up at Aziraphale from he is, laying on his belly between the angel’s legs, Crowley sees him, a hand fisted in the blankets and the other tossed over his face. It’s astounding and Crowley has to remind himself to focus on the task at hand. 

He nibbles his way up Aziraphale’s inner thigh to his now thankfully half—hard cock and licks the crevice between where the angel’s thigh meets his pelvis, the dark blonde hair scraping over his tongue before he sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of Aziraphale’s hip.

He feels fingers sink into his hair as another gasp echoes in his ears and if he was hard before he doesn’t think he had an understanding of how turned on someone could be until Aziraphale’s nails scrape over his scalp and he whimpers against the angel’s stomach.

“Is this—” he begins.

“Don’t you dare stop,” Aziraphale demands not letting him finish his half formed thought.

That’s enough instruction for Crowley who loses himself between Aziraphale’s legs, their comforting enclosure making him feel safe and warm as he kisses and bites at the soft folds of Aziraphale’s stomach, playing to the rhythm of the angel’s noises of pleasure until the desire to taste him becomes too much and Crowley sinks down and takes his half hard cock into his mouth.

The noise Aziraphale makes is something akin to a kettle whistling and if they were in any other situation Crowley would be laughing hysterically, instead he closes his eyes and wills his heart into submission. This is — this is more intimacy than he ever expected.

He’d resolved himself to something like an eternity of friendship. Aziraphale was so important. The most important. Something not worth risking just to indulge his own desires for closeness. The intimacy of dinner and conversation over wine was enough to make Crowley think he could last several more millennia before suggesting anything else.

Anything like this.

So he takes that feeling of gratitude (and yes, joy) and pours it into his actions, savoring the way Aziraphale’s cock hardens slowly in his mouth, the salty ocean taste of his precome when he grows hard enough, the weight of him in Crowley’s hand as he works it in time with his tongue.

But most of all Crowley lives in the moments between Aziraphale’s breaths and moans, feeling powerful and as close to loved as he thinks he’ll ever feel.

The fingers tighten in his hair and when Aziraphale says, “Crowley” in a desperate, naked voice, the demon thinks he might black out from sheer want.

What he doesn’t expect his to find himself unceremoniously tossed on his back and straddled by a very red in the face angel who presses his warm, oh so warm, palm into the dip of Crowley’s chest and says, “I want to penetrate you but it is absolutely acceptable if you would prefer to continue in this fashion.”

It’s ridiculous and arousing and so _ Aziraphale _ that Crowley can barely respond. The angel cocks his head and licks his lips, casting his hips forward so his erection grazes Crowley’s and _ fuck_. “Yeah, alright. Yes. Please,” Crowley says and it sounds desperate and pathetic but his higher processing is completely shot so it doesn’t matter in the slightest.

Something giddy lights up the angel’s face before he lunges across the bed and grabs the lube. “After I decided I wanted to have sex with you, I read about this a lot. Anal penetration is quite interesting. Do you have a prostate?”

The words are a lot to parse in his hazy and aroused state, but Crowley tries his best. “Erm, I don’t—”

“Well, they’re human bodies regardless if we’re in them or not. So it seems likely,” Aziraphale says as he squirts some liquid onto the fingers of his right hand.

In a mirror of Crowley’s actions moments (hours?) ago, Aziraphale grasps at Crowley’s knee and hooks it over his shoulder as he comes down on his belly between Crowley’s legs.

At first he expects a sort of cold hard press but instead something hot and insistent flutters against the part of himself he had never explored during his brief forays into masturbation. 

Aziraphale makes a little grunting sound and lifts his head, lips bright red and slick with spit. “Is this alright, my dear? I read that analingus is the best way to prepare for penetration.”

Crowley’s head falls back against the pillows and, before he can say something scathing about _ analingus, _the tongue is back and doing remarkable things, causing sparks of pleasure to light behind his eyes and his leg muscles to twitch peculiarly. It is foreign and he feels vulnerable but so, so good.

Aziraphale pulls away and kisses his inner thigh. “This may be a bit cold,” he warns before that insistent press Crowley had expected and then Aziraphale’s fingers are inside him and its strange but it's also Aziraphale and that swelling intimacy from before is back but even better and Crowley keens as his back arches and his legs shake.

“Oh I like that,” Aziraphale says from between his legs, his head bowed as he looks down at his work, the curly mop of his blond hair cascading over his forehead. 

The next few minutes pass in a blur of sensations and emotions that Crowley can’t bear articulating. 

The only words he manages to think are:_ yes, this. _

Insistent hands on his hips rouse him and he looks at Aziraphale, feeling somehow like he can’t breathe. 

“According to my research, penetration is easiest if you turn over and get on your knees—”

Crowley growls. “If you say anything else about your bloody research, I’ll brain you with your own lube. Now get inside me.”

Aziraphale looks a bit flustered but nods and dips his head to kiss the line of Crowley’s hip. 

“Of course, my dear. No need to get tetchy.”

The press of Aziraphale’s fingers is nothing like the press of his cock and for a moment Crowley wishes he’d taken him up on that offer of any easier position, but then something gives and Crowley just feels _ full_. When he opens his eyes at the new sensation, he sees the angel above him, a look of pure concentration on his face as he fists one hand into the pillow beside Crowley’s head and the other curls about his bent knee.

He hears Aziraphale groan. “Fuck.”

And then Aziraphale pulls back — and oh that’s a bit weird — but when he slams back inside Crowley sees stars and he can’t help but echo the angel’s sentiment.

“Fuck,”

“Good?” Aziraphale asks in a tone of voice Crowley doesn’t think he’s ever heard before, low and tight and…

He does his best to keep his eyes open, watch as Aziraphale moves against him, cataloging each pull and push of his hips to remember later in case this never happens again. But, despite his efforts, he finds himself becoming a mess of scrabbling hands and embarrassing noises and a tight coiling need.

Crowley is as surprised as Aziraphale — if his sharp intake of breath is anything to go by — when the coil releases and his nerves cry out at once, pleasure so acute he thinks it might be the only true benefit of this human body.

“Oh my dear,” Aziraphale says, sounding overwhelmed as he drops his head to Crowley’s shoulder and continues to move his hips, first faster and then erratically before he also comes apart.

The angel collapses for a moment, sinking on top of him, and Crowley relishes the warm, comforting weight. 

Aziraphale kisses his chest briefly before slipping away and Crowley feels abruptly empty and cold with a keen fear curling in his belly as Aziraphale putters into the bathroom.

When he returns, pink cheeked like he had just washed his face, Aziraphale hands Crowley a small wet washcloth and settles back into bed.

Crowley refuses to look at him as he wipes down his belly and takes his own leave to clean himself up in the bathroom. Do humans really do this every time they have sex?

Aziraphale is lying in bed, now clad only in his boxers and undershirt, smiling like a loon and Crowley freezes in the doorway.

“That was delightful, don’t you think?” Aziraphale says, tossing a spare shirt he has cradled against his chest at Crowley who holds it out, realizing it is one of Aziraphale’s and not his own.

He pulls the shirt over his head and it settles at the top of his thighs. It smells just like Aziraphale, that cinnamon brandy smell.

“Erm, it was alright.”

Aziraphale scoffs and scoots to the far side of the twin bed before patting the space he just vacated. “Typical demon. Why can’t you just enjoy things?”

Crowley sits on the edge of the bed, wary, but is tugged down against the pillow by an insistent Aziraphale, nattering the while. “I particularly liked when you took my penis in your mouth. What is that called? Fellatio? That felt very good. Not that the rest wasn’t equally spectacular —”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley interrupts.

“Yes?” Aziraphale asks, wide eyed as Crowley rolls over to face him.

“Shut up.”

Aziraphale gives him an offended look. “Well, I don’t see how we’ll improve if we don’t review what parts we liked best.”

That pronouncement settles around Crowley and he has to stop himself from pulling away in disbelief. Instead he asks, “What? We’re doing that again?”

Aziraphale looks disappointed but still manages to sound bright when he says, “Not if you don’t want to of course. However I enjoyed myself and I suppose I thought you did too.”

“I did,” Crowley rushes to reassure him.

“Oh fantastic. It’s settled then. There’s so much to try!” Aziraphale says and then kisses him squarely on the mouth.

Crowley stares at him when he pulls back and then Aziraphale’s eyes widen.

“Kissing!” he cries, all excitement. “That’s what we should do next! Perhaps tomorrow?”

Bewildered, Crowley doesn’t complain when Aziraphale lays on his back and pulls Crowley against his side. 

“Tomorrow sounds good,” Crowley says, closing his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i never anticipated this being anything other than a oneshot then plot snuck in and i had so much fun with sex positive!horny!aziraphale that i wrote more
> 
> i doubt this will be more than 5 chapters but i no longer trust myself on such estimates

Crowley wakes to the distinct feeling of being watched. He cracks one eye open and sees Aziraphale propped up on his elbow staring down at him with that same beatific expression from the night before.

“Stop staring, angel,” Crowley grumbles trying to will himself to wakefulness. He has no idea how long he slept. Judging by the light still coming through the window of Aziraphale’s bedroom either no time at all or at least through the night. He forces himself to sit up against the headboard and Aziraphale shuffles to match his position.

“You look very beautiful in the morning light,” Aziraphale says and then kisses him, his proposal from the night before clearly still on offer.

Crowley pulls back. “You taste awful.”

Aziraphale purses his lips. “Isn’t that part of the whole thing?”

“I doubt it. Go brush your teeth.”

Aziraphale climbs out of bed and Crowley slinks after, both taking up post in front of the mirror, scrubbing their teeth slowly. They’re quite a sight. Aziraphale’s still fairly immaculate, but Crowley, on the other hand, is rumpled from head to toe, hair stuck up in tufts, a purpling bruise dark on his neck.

Aziraphale tugs on the hem of Crowley’s shirt—well, Aziraphale’s shirt—and says, “You look very fetching in my clothes.”

Crowley blushes, covering up the stain of cheeks by leaning over and spitting into the sink. “Kinky of you.”

Aziraphale scoffs. “That’s hardly kinky, Crowley.” Then he brightens. “If you’re interested in trying that however, I did purchase a few dildos and the website I visited had some intricate looking bondage that I think would set your complexion off to an advantage,” he says excitedly, plucking at the oversized shirt like he’s interested in what’s underneath.

Crowley shifts away and grips the edge of the counter, trying not to think about what it would be like to have Aziraphale _ tie him down_. 

Aziraphale rinses his mouth and says, “Perhaps that _ is _ a little fast. We haven’t even properly kissed yet. And do you know what frottage is?”

Crowley feels himself make a noise somewhere between a groan and a squeak. “Bloody—do you have a list or something? One hundred and one sex acts I’d like to try?”

“Well, that’s not the title but yes,” Aziraphale says, scowling at Crowley’s reflection. “You know, we can do things you’d like to try. I’m happy to add to the list.”

When Crowley just stares at him Aziraphale’s long suffering expression shifts into something almost teasing. _ Flirtatious_, is the word that Crowley’s mind supplies. But that doesn’t…

“Now that we’re both minty and fresh, I’d very much like to kiss you.”

And before Crowley can manage a suitably vicious retort, Aziraphale has crowded him against the sink and pushed up to slot their mouths together.

It’s over in a flash and Aziraphale says, breathless and blushing, “That’s very good.”

Crowley grunts, still replaying the kiss in his mind, aware that he’s currently only wearing someone else’s too big t-shirt and no pants as he lets Aziraphale tug him back to bed where he finds himself dumped onto his back with a lapful of very warm angel.

Aziraphale hand comes up to cup his cheek and he looks into Crowley’s eyes, searching. “You can stop me you know,” Aziraphale says softly, still staring him down, open and unnerving. 

It’s more of that intimacy that Crowley can’t seem to get enough of so he nods and says, “‘Course I know.”

At that, Aziraphale’s concerned focus melts into a small secretive smile. “Good.”

Curling his fingers around Crowley’s jaw, Aziraphale tugs him up so that their lips meet, soft and tentative. Then again, a bit firmer before Aziraphale adjusts his legs to be tighter about Crowley’s hips and his other hand goes into Crowley’s hair, holding him in place as he nips on his lower lip. A barely there scrape of teeth that nearly short-circuits Crowley’s already struggling brain.

Aziraphale hums against his mouth, clearly delighted. Trying to gather himself, Crowley’s hands come up to grasp at Aziraphale’s body, rucking up his undershirt and savoring the weight of the angel’s body in his hands as he sinks his finger into the flesh he finds there.

Wriggling in his lap, Aziraphale relaxes his mouth, the kiss becoming more of a dragging of lips than anything. And when Crowley follows suit, he finds Aziraphale’s tongue slipping into his mouth and Crowley’s patience snaps.

The slow pace of Aziraphale’s kisses are not enough and the only way he can think to remedy that is to run the show himself. He yanks the angel against him—getting a startled grunt for his efforts—and meets Aziraphale’s tongue with his own and it’s minty. Toothpaste will never be the same, he thinks out of nowhere. And then it all becomes a blur as he closes his eyes and focuses on sensation.

Teeth scraping over his lips, and then a soft slide of Aziraphale’s tongue, slick and arousing and intimate. Somehow they roll so they are both on their sides, Aziraphale’s hands fully sunk in Crowley’s hair and Crowley holding on to Aziraphale’s hips for dear life.

He’s unbearably hard but this...he doesn’t want this to stop. 

Pulling away to breathe properly, Aziraphale rests his hand on Crowley’s collarbone. The demon’s eyes flutter open and see the welcome sight of a smiling, rosy-cheeked Aziraphale whose early excitement is now clouded by what Crowley proudly knows is arousal.

Aziraphale’s hand has found its way under the hem of Crowley’s shirt, fingertips resting on the line of his hip, running his nails lightly over the crevice of his thigh. “You look gorgeous like this.”

Crowley tries not to choke. What is _ happening_?

Unbothered, Aziraphale nuzzles into the drooping neckline of Crowley’s shirt and nibbles on his shoulder, sucking and licking and using too many teeth but Crowley _ loves _ it. 

A hand skates from his hip to his groin, rubbing over his erection and even though they had sex the night before it still makes Crowley nearly rocket out of the bed.

Aziraphale chuckles but doesn’t say anything, just continues the slow movements of his hand as he whispers into Crowley’s ear “Would you like if I ‘went down on you?’”

The air quotes are clear even though Crowley’s eyes are closed. It should be ridiculous. Instead it makes Crowley whine as Aziraphale pulls his hand away.

“I looked it up on the internet while you were sleeping. It seems you were right,” Aziraphale says as he pulls off Crowley’s shirt. “Fellatio isn’t the word they use these days. Going down seems quite colloquial though. Not very specific. You understood though. Right?”

“I understood,” Crowley grates out, very distracted by the sight of Aziraphale settling between his legs, thick fingers splayed over the sharp edges of his hip bones.

“So you’re interested in trying this?” Aziraphale says before tentatively licking the head of Crowley’s cock.

Crowley fists his hands in the sheets to keep himself immobile. “I’m interested,” he says, a few octaves too high.

He’s so very interested that he might interest himself all over the bed.

“Wonderful,” Aziraphale says in a tone that Crowley last heard when the expensive bistro on the corner got a new executive chef. 

Then it’s the warm heat of Aziraphale’s mouth and is that his hand or—fuck, it doesn’t matter because it’s good and it’s Aziraphale touching him and Crowley didn’t think it would ever be like this and—

He distantly hears the noise of Aziraphale spluttering as his vision fuzzes and his ears ring. 

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale says and Crowley lifts his head only to see Aziraphale, mouth dripping with—is that—?

The angel licks his lips and hums. “Oh you taste very interesting, my dear. Have you ever tried it?”

Crowley gapes as Aziraphale wipes his finger across his chin and offers him some. He decidedly shakes his head and Aziraphale shrugs before leaning down and licking Crowley clean. The warm swirl of his tongue has Crowley crying out, the sensation making him squirm, but Aziraphale ignores him until his noises devolve into pathetic mewls.

Aziraphale sits back on his heels and wipes the spit from his face. Placing one hand on Crowley’s thigh, he says, “That was very enlightening. I’d like to do that again sometime. But I think breakfast is in order?”

It’s a question but Aziraphale doesn’t wait for an answer as he shuffles out of bed and into the bathroom. Crowley stares at the ceiling, listening to the sound of the water snicking on. He fondly remembers the days before the apocalypse when he could miracle himself clean with a thought.

Sighing, he resigns himself to a sticky morning—at least until he can get home and shower—before Aziraphale pokes his head out of the bathroom and says, “Are you coming? The pornography I’ve watched made it seem like shower sex is phenomenal.”

And how can Crowley say no to that?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brief cw for issues of consent in end notes

Aziraphale saws at his french toast a la bananas foster, happy as anything, while Crowley fiddles with the handle of his black cup of coffee. He’s not particularly hungry.

But he does like watching Aziraphale eat. The angel makes little noises when he eats, noises that Crowley can now associate with _ other _ things.

Before Aziraphale had dragged him to bed, Crowley had grown used to the happy noises. The angel being happy makes _ him _ happy. 

Now they just turn him on.

Which is unfortunate because they’re in a restaurant, surrounded by people, and Aziraphale is still humming between bites and Crowley can’t stop staring. He shifts in his seat to distract himself and is immediately reminded of previously unused muscles that have seen more attention in the last twenty four hours than they had seen in millennia.

His fingers tangle in the napkin in his lap as he thinks of Aziraphale in the shower just before they left, pressing him against the wall and slamming into him over and over until Crowley had come untouched, nerves a screaming mess.

Aziraphale had smirked at him from below his lashes while Crowley clung to the tiles and tried to breathe. The damn angel was _ definitely _ aware of the effect he had.

Bastard.

“Good toast?” Crowley asks as he slurps at the coffee, trying to disguise what he knows must be a very obvious blush.

“The very best,” Aziraphale says after swallowing. He sips delicately at his water as his eyes dance over the crowd around them, taking in their surroundings like every detail is as glorious as the next. Eventually, they settle on Crowley and crinkle at the corners. 

“You know,” Aziraphale says, a surefire sign that he’s about to say something he’s been thinking about for a long time, “it’s a shame we’ve put the kibosh on miracles. I would love to know what a vaginal orgasm feels like.”

A fork clatters on a plate and Crowley looks over as the woman at the table over coughs into her hand. 

“Have you only ever had…” Crowley drifts off, making a generic gesture in Aziraphale’s direction. The angel glances into his lap and then nods.

“It came with this body so I didn’t really find a need to change it. How about you? Have you had a vagina with other partners?”

The woman is now frozen in her seat and Crowley can see from the corner of his eye that she’s struggling not to turn and stare at them.

“Erm, no,” Crowley says.

“So just penises then. Interesting,” Aziraphale murmurs before popping a slice of caramelized banana into his mouth.

The woman makes a choking noise.

“Could you maybe hold off on the genitalia discussion until we’re alone?” Crowley says through his teeth. Not that it would stop the woman next to them from hearing.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale says, sitting up straight, all concern. “I’m sorry. Does it make you uncomfortable?”

Crowley closes his eyes and if he prayed he’d be asking for patience right about now. “No”—a lie—“But there are _ people _ here.”

Aziraphale looks around and purses his lips. “I suppose you’re right.”

Crowley rolls his eyes, even though he loves when Aziraphale admits he’s right.

They finish breakfast, Aziraphale asking after his plants—they are doing very well, especially now that Crowley has more time to spend yelling at them—before bringing up possible plans for the evening.

“I was hoping to go to the symphony sometime soon. They’re doing Vivaldi and you know how I feel about Vivaldi.”

Crowley chuckles and immediately resolves to get his hands on tickets. He probably shouldn’t use his powers but he’s strongly considering it.

“What would you like to do my dear?” Aziraphale asks, pushing away his very clean plate and looking at Crowley expectantly.

Crowley can’t very well say “Snog you on my couch until sunrise” so he shrugs and says, “I’ll go wherever you like.”

Aziraphale beams at him which Crowley likes very much. “Why don’t we meet at the bookshop at 6 and figure things out?”

Crowley agrees before they part ways and when he arrives home and locks the door behind him, he resigns himself to a long day on his sofa brooding and trying to figure out what the bloody hell is happening.

**

Crowley does not manage to find tickets for that night but he does find them for that Friday and when Aziraphale lets him into the bookshop he hands them off proudly, pleased by the smile that lights Aziraphale’s face. 

“Oh, I’m so looking forward to it,” Aziraphale says before kissing him on the mouth.

Even though they spent the greater part of the morning doing just that, it still sends a jolt of surprise through Crowley. He hadn’t really thought they would do things like that outside the bedroom.

Aziraphale herds him into the back room where he sets them up with tea from the hot plate. Both include a hearty shot of whiskey, which Crowley appreciates. He feels quite nervous.

Sure enough, Aziraphale sits next to him, much closer than normal, and produces a list that Crowley recognizes by the first thing on it: Kissing.

His stomach flops about like a fish on a deck, struggling to breathe.

“So this morning,” Azirphale begins, “I was telling you about the list I made of sex acts I’d like to try and I thought it might be nice to add some of your interests. Since we’ll be trying it together.”

_ Sex acts _ is absolutely the worst way to phrase the things on the list, but Crowley resolves to get better at handling Aziraphale’s newfound sexuality, realizing he might discorporate if he doesn’t. Aziraphale places the paper in Crowley’s lap and looks at him expectantly. “Go ahead,” he says. “Read it.”

The list starts with minor things like kissing and cuddling (naked) and then devolves into words that Crowley isn’t sure he knows the definition of.

Bondage, cunnilingus (may not be possible without miracles), roleplay, lingerie (Crowley in lace!!), toys (vibrators, dildos, cockrings. Don’t forget to order cockrings!)

Crowley’s face is burning by the time he gets to the end and when he looks up Aziraphale is still smiling at him mildly. “This all sounds...erm, good.”

Aziraphale shimmies in his seat excitedly and says, “Yes, but, what would you like to try?”

“Erm, the list is pretty comprehensive.”

“Well, I did do research.”

“So you’ve said,” Crowley says and the sarcasm feels almost normal despite the fact that he’d been worried things had irrevocably changed between them.

“Crowley, be serious.”

“Angel, I’m fine with everything we’ve done. I’ve liked it. More of that is fine.”

That makes Aziraphale look proud. “So you like…”

“All of it,” Crowley says, waving his hand. “Yes.”

“You don’t want to “top me,” as it were?”

The thought of being inside Aziraphale makes Crowley’s cock twitch but then he remembers how it felt to have Aziraphale bending him over in the shower, filling him up and making him—

“Er, maybe sometime, but I like when you—”

“Oh very good. There are several more positions I’d like to try. Of course I’m not averse to you penetrating me, but I’ve enjoyed the reverse quite a bit.”

“Right,” Crowley says, not sure to what to add to that. 

With another happy wiggle, Aziraphale plucks the list from Crowley’s hands and for a moment, Crowley thinks he might lean over and kiss him again and that it might devolve from there into tugging off clothes and kissing and falling into the couch cushions, but instead Aziraphale produces some news clippings and says, “I collected the crosswords from this week! Want to help me with them?”

And that’s how Crowley finds himself slowly relaxing into the couch while Aziraphale reads aloud the clues and they tease each other over forgetting words and historical events—it gets a little heated when Crowley confuses Emily for Anne Bronte which Aziraphale absolutely cannot abide. When the clock in Aziraphale’s office chimes 11, Crowley unfolds himself from the couch and stretches. “S’pose I should head home.”

Aziraphale looks up at him, all wide eyes. “Or you could stay.”

Crowley isn’t sure what he was going to say because it’s so swiftly kissed from his mouth when Aziraphale wraps his arms around him and flicks his tongue between Crowley’s lips.

How did he forget how _ good _ this was? It had only been twelve hours and it already felt like it had been too long to not be so close to his angel.

A dangerous line of thought.

Aziraphale pulls away far too soon and asks, “Can we go upstairs please? As much as I fancy eventually having sex on a couch, I have something else in mind.”

The thought of Aziraphale pushing him into the couch cushions sends a little thrill through Crowley but it dissipates as the angel practically drags him up the stairs. “Excited?” Crowley asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Very much so,” Aziraphale says frankly and Crowley realizes he’ll never be able to tease him about any of this. Which is a bit disappointing. Especially considering he thinks Aziraphale could tease him about all of it.

Once they’re in the bedroom, Aziraphale unbuttons Crowley’s clothes, much faster than the night before. “Is this alright?” he asks, as concerned as ever about Crowley’s consent so Crowley nods enthusiastically and starts taking off Aziraphale’s clothes in turn. 

Crowley finds himself on the bed with Aziraphale kneeling between his legs, pulling off his too tight jeans and kissing his inner thighs. “Are we doing something from the list?” Crowley asks breathlessly at the sight of Aziraphale pulling off his undershirt. The angel looks so soft, so _ beautiful _ and Crowley wants to see him fall apart.

“What would you say to a vibrator?” Aziraphale asks, hands pausing on Crowley’s legs.

Crowley has no idea what he’d say to a vibrator so he just nods and then Aziraphale is rifling through a box that he’d pulled out from under his bed and is tossing all manner of implements onto the quilt next to Crowley. With each one, Crowley’s eyes get marginally wider.

Aziraphale frets over the pile and then looks to Crowley. “Anything catch your eye?”

Some of the things look so big that Crowley involuntary cringes so he pushes those away.

“Ah, yes. A little intimidating for a first go around I suppose,” Aziraphale says, plucking them from the bed and replacing them in the box.

Crowley finds he has no preference between the remaining objects, some slimmer, some longer, some with fiddly little extra ends whose purpose he can’t fathom. “Why don’t you choose?”

“I was hoping you’d say that!” Aziraphale says, excited as anything as he pulls a black thing—Crowley can hardly bear to think the word _ dildo _ with Aziraphale kneeling naked on the ground, looking incandescent—from the pile. It’s smaller than some of the others with a flat base and Aziraphale shoves it into Crowley’s hands before swiping the rest of the stuff into their box which he pushes back under the bed.

Crowley is finding Aziraphale’s enthusiasm a little intimidating and something must show on his face because when Aziraphale pops back up, a crease forms between his eyebrows and his hands fall to the bed on either side of Crowley’s hips, dildo forgotten. “Are you alright, my dear?”

Part of Crowley wants to say, _ please, slow down_, the other is struck by the horrifying irony that he’s the one about to tell Aziraphale’s he’s going too fast. The irony wins out and Crowley can’t help laughing. He’s laughing so hard that he clutches at his stomach and Aziraphale is steadily looking more and more concerned until Crowley finally catches his breath.

“Really, Crowley,” Aziraphale says, falling back on his heels and looking put out. “I’m not sure if I should be offended.”

“‘M not laughing at you,” Crowley says, looking away. With the laughter fading, he’s beginning to feel vulnerable again and he _ hates _ that. He can’t look at Aziraphale’s glowing face and say _ no_.

It turns out he doesn’t have to because Aziraphale is suddenly crowding him onto the bed and pulling him into what Crowley distantly knows is a “spooning” position. “If you don’t want to do something, you can just say.”

The softness of it clutches at Crowley’s chest and he is absolutely _ not _ going to cry. “Sorry.”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Aziraphale says into the little hairs on Crowley’s neck, giving him goosebumps. “I should have been paying more attention.”

Crowley rolls out of Aziraphale’s embrace and turns to face him. “It’s not that I don’t want to you know.”

A spark of the same excitement from before flashes through Aziraphale’s expression. “Really?”

“It’s just...it’s new.”

Aziraphale looks confused again. “I thought you’d said you’d done this before. I suppose I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions about your experience if you’ve only really done what’s...traditional.”

“I actually haven’t...you know—with other people…” Crowley mumbles.

Aziraphale pushes at his shoulder, scandalized. “But you said you had!”

“I meant...with myself.”

“You little liar,” Aziraphale says, eyes narrowing even as he starts to smirk. 

“You didn’t specify!”

“It was implied,” Aziraphale counters.

Crowley huffs. He knows Aziraphale’s right but he’s not going to say it.

Aziraphale rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling before reaching over and tangling their fingers together. “It’s quite exciting actually.”

“What is?” Crowley asks, distracted by the way Aziraphale runs his thumb over his knuckles.

“You’re just as inexperienced as I am. We can learn all this together.”

“S’pose that is nice,” Crowley says, considering it. He hadn’t really thought about it that way. It’s sort of romantic—

“Also I think I’m very pleased that I’m the only person who's ever seen you orgasm.”

Yes, very romantic.

Crowley rolls his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: crowley has a moment where he considers having sex without really wanting to (it doesn't happen)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *covers face with hands*

Aziraphale wakes Crowley the next day with a kiss to the back of his neck as he pulls away. “I was planning on opening the shop today. Sleep as long as you like.”

“Mnggg,” Crowley chirps, only half awake and unbothered. He rolls over onto his side as he hears Aziraphale open the bedroom door, curling around a pillow that smells just like the angel, cinnamon and warm, and falls back asleep.

When he wakes up he knows its at least noon and while his body needs a stretch—succumbing to that oversleeping stiffness he is overly familiar with—he also feels like he needs a good, long shower. Or a sulk. Or a sulk in the shower. 

He can’t believe what happened the night before. How embarrassing. All those vulnerable feelings. He sits up in bed and rolls his shoulders, trying to push away the shame worming through his belly.

Knowing he needs to return to his flat and change clothes—he’s been wearing the same ones for nearly two days—he’s loathe to go through the shop and actually have to _ face _ Aziraphale who will probably look at him with wide, pitying eyes and say something disgustingly sweet that will just make the worm in Crowley’s stomach worm even harder.

Resigning himself to the fact that he can’t just conveniently magic himself elsewhere given the moratorium on miracles (or whatever he should call his own little acts of occult power), he toes into his shoes and trudges downstairs, the soft melody of Aziraphale’s voice already reaching his ears. 

“I was hoping it could be completed rather quickly,” he hears Aziraphale say. “It’s a gift, you see. And the event is coming up shortly.”

Crowley sighs. He wonders what the angel would do if he knew just what the sound of his voice did to Crowley. Probably smile and squeeze his hand, never to mention it again. He’d probably be flattered, right enough. If only this little physical foray of theirs meant what Crowley keeps hoping it means. But Aziraphale is always so bright, so loving, of course his physical affections would be the same. Didn’t mean anything.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale says when he sees him. And there’s that stupid brightness. “I hope you’re feeling better, my dear.”

“Peachy,” Crowley says, voice involuntarily husky. He clears his throat.

Aziraphale’s eyebrows draw together. “Are you—”

“Best head off. Need to water the plants,” he says dismissively. He’s glad he’s wearing his glasses else he’s fairly certain Aziraphale would pick up on his nervousness. As it is, he has to remind himself not to fidget too much.

“Will I see you later?” Aziraphale says, sounding concerned but still hopeful. How does he always sound so hopeful.

“Who knows,” Crowley says dismissively, not looking at Aziraphale as he yanks open the bookshop door.

“Probably,” he amends, unable to handle the guilt at what must be a hurt expression on Aziraphale’s face. 

He sort of expects Aziraphale to call him that night, the same way he’s been calling nearly every night since the apocalypse, but the phone doesn’t ring. And Crowley does _ not _ spend the entire night moping on his sofa. No sir.

He _ does _ spend the night thinking about what Aziraphale had said while that extremely embarrassing list had been in Crowley’s lap. What did he want to do? Was there anything he’d...fantasized about? He kept coming up blank. All of his interests were squarely focused on Aziraphale, his wants and needs and bringing him pleasure. Just the thought of the way Aziraphale huffed into Crowley’s ear when he camesent Crowley spinning into truly terrifying arousal.

And then he had an idea. A real one. A _ good _ one.

Aziraphale _ does _ call bright and early the next morning. Having slept not a wink, Crowley answers it on the second ring and tries not to sound too eager. “This is Crowley.”

“My dear, I’m so sorry I didn’t ring you last night. I got so caught up in—”

“It’s fine, angel,” Crowley says, feeling relieved. Aziraphale isn’t mad at him. Or disappointed in him.

They fall silent.

“Well, I just wanted to check on you. You left in quite a rush—”

Not wanting to talk about his overwhelming embarrassment the previous day, he interrupts. “I have an idea.”

A pause.

“An idea?”

“Yes, for the list. I think you’ll like it.”

“I’m certain I’ll like anything you like, darling. What is it?”

Darling? Oh that’s new. Crowley likes _ that _ quite a bit. He swallows. “You’ll have to wait and see,” he says, a hint of his usually teasing flirtation in his voice. He’s very proud of himself for managing it.

“Oh,” Aziraphale says, sounding flustered. And isn’t that a treat. 

Crowley quietly resolves to fluster him a bit more often. He wonders if Aziraphale’s been feeling this way for the last two days. Almost certainly. The smug bastard.

“Would you like to come over at noon? We can have lunch at my place and then try...some...thing.” Crowley stumbles over the last bit. Turns out his confidence only goes so far.

Aziraphale chuckles a little. “I’m looking forward to it already.”

Crowley looks at his cell phone screen after Aziraphale hangs up and tries to calm the fluttering of his stomach.

**

Crowley finishes setting up lunch and taps his fingers on the back of his dining room chair, a small concession to his steadily growing nerves. 

A knock sounds at the door.

Wiping his sweating hands—stupid corporeal forms and their sweat glands—on his jeans, he takes a deep breath and goes to open it, finding Aziraphale standing in the hallway looking like a treat. _ He always looks like a treat_, Crowley thinks. _ Yes but you’ve never been able to taste before_.

_ This metaphor is getting gross_. Crowley grimaces. 

Aziraphale leans over the threshold and kisses him. It’s a chaste kiss of greeting but it’s also soft and it sends Crowley’s heart racing. “It’s very nice to be able to do that,” Aziraphale says, inviting himself in. “I’ve thought about it for quite a long time and it really is as lovely as I thought it would be.”

Crowley stares at his back. What?

Coming to a stop in Crowley’s dining room, Aziraphale gasps at the meal Crowley set up, a hand going to his chest, turning back to Crowley with shining eyes. “You did this for me?”

Crowley feels like the blood is draining from his face directly into his stomach and he nods. He thinks this is a good thing but Aziraphale looks like he might cry? Which is a bad thing.

“Come over here and kiss me this instant,” Aziraphale demands so Crowley complies. This kiss has significantly more tongue than the kiss at the door and Crowley nearly loses himself to it, the possibility of falling into Aziraphale, before reminding himself he has a plan and pulling away.

“Bad angel,” he says with a teasing wag of his finger. “Lunch first. I put in all this effort, you see.”

Aziraphale has the decency to look sheepish but the effect is somewhat ruined by the lustful way he stares at Crowley while they take their seats.

Crowley is rather proud of the work he put in for lunch. Strawberries, cucumber sandwiches, Aziraphale’s favorite tea. 

Aziraphale reaches for a piece of fruit and Crowley plucks it from his hand. “Let me.”

Aziraphale’s eyes go wide. “Oh. Is this—”

“Thought you’d like it,” Crowley says, knowing he’s blushing but physically unable to stop it. 

So Crowley takes the fruit and lifts it to Aziraphale’s lips, watching has his pink lips — fuck they’re so pink — part and he pulls the bite of fruit into his mouth, tongue brushing against the pad of Crowley’s finger.

It’s weird but it’s also ridiculously arousing. Of course it is. It’s Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale closes his eyes as he chews and when they open they’re dark and unfathomable and hungry in more ways than one. It thrills Crowley to know its him making Aziraphale look that way so he picks up another piece of fruit, ready to go on like this for quite some time. Until Aziraphale has his fill. Instead Aziraphale says, “While I would absolutely enjoy continuing on like this, I would very much like to bend you over that counter and eat you until you can’t move.”

“Guh,” Crowley says, dropping the piece of fruit he had picked up.

Then Aziraphale’s hands are on his thighs, sliding up until his thumbs are brushing the crease of Crowley’s hip bones. “But we’ve already done that,” Crowley squeaks, a weak excuse because he _ wants _ it. 

“Not in that position. And not here,” Aziraphale says, but then hesitates. “Obviously, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

It’s that conversation from the night before all over again, but instead of feeling shame, Crowley feels...grateful. And then he feels like he might burst with how much he loves Aziraphale. He wants to say it. The moment feels right. But he knows he shouldn’t. He can’t ruin this.

“Yes, I want to,” Crowley says, all in a rush. 

Aziraphale sits up and smiles. “Perfect. Now take off your clothes.”

It’s authoritative and in any other context Crowley would be responding sarcastically about certain bossy angels. But he can’t manage to say anything as he stands up and does as he’s told.

He supposes he should have known Aziraphale would be bossy in bed. Well he should have known if he hadn’t purposefully avoided thinking about it for several millennia.

“Mmm, lovely,” Aziraphale says. “Go put your hands on the counter. Facing away from me.”

So Crowley does, his spine tingling the whole way.

He hears the tap of Aziraphale’s shoes on the tile behind him before Aziraphale is pressed against him, his clothes are soft and the roundness of his belly pushes into Crowley’s lower back. It’s all very overwhelming. “You know, you’re very good at listening when we’re about to engage in sexual acts together. I like it,” Aziraphale announces as he trails his nails down Crowley’s upper arm, giving him goosebumps.

“You would,” Crowley says with a sneer that absolutely lacks in vitriol whatsoever.

Aziraphale nuzzles the base of his neck and starts kissing down his back, hands dropping to his hips. “This part of your body tastes different. So far my favorite flavor has been your inner thighs. Though your semen was very interesting,” Aziraphale comments.

“Are we doing the narration bit?” Crowley asks even though he sort of loves it, he’s not sure he can handle Aziraphale saying every dirty thing that drifts through his mind. Which has proven to be a great deal of dirty things. Innumerable really.

Aziraphale grumbles as he drops to his knees behind Crowley, the hands on his hips going to stroke the back of his thighs. It tickles. 

With very little warning, Aziraphale licks into him, sending a shot of pleasure right to his dick and making him grunt as his upper back arches. 

It turns out Aziraphale is as good as his word because he licks him for what feels like hours, hands firmly gripping Crowley’s calves, never drifting to the spot between his legs where Crowley desperately wants them to go. By the end of it, Crowley feels like he’s been painted onto his kitchen counter and that he may never stand again.

Aziraphale makes a noise that Crowley is pretty sure is a laugh before trying to turn Crowley onto his back where he can’t manage to stay, slipping to the floor as his legs fairly give out.

All it takes is Aziraphale’s hand around his cock before his orgasm hits, like something is being ripped out of the very depths of him. Aziraphale looks down at him proudly, still fully dressed, face wet from his own saliva and eyes still lasciviously dark. 

“Was that — did you —” Crowley slurs out. Is he still corporeal? He sort of feels like he doesn’t have muscles.

“It was phenomenal, darling. Just what I wanted.”

There it is. Darling again.

Aziraphale stands and goes to the sink to wash his hands before bringing back a towel to clean Crowley up. “I was thinking that this has been such a success. Us trying new things. That maybe we should add other things to the list. Like what if we tried tennis? Or video games? I was thinking that I might like to try embroidery. Or knitting. What do you think?”

Aziraphale is sitting on his haunches next to Crowley, semen-covered towel in his hand, and Crowley can barely manage a noise of acknowledgment.

It doesn’t seem to matter to Aziraphale who continues to speak. “Though I don’t know if video games would really be the same as intercourse which I’ve been enjoying particularly because I think it’s a nice way to express our love for each other and I doubt video games would really have the same intimacy involved. Though who knows? I’ve never played them. Do you think video games are better if you’re in love with each other?”

_ In love? _

_ What? _


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think this will be 7 chapters if my vague outline treats me right

Crowley feels as if he’s swimming in something thick, perhaps pudding, as he turns his head to the left to stare at Aziraphale. He’s acutely aware that he’s naked on the floor of his kitchen and Aziraphale is holding a towel with his _ semen _ on it and the angel has just said that they’re in love as casually as asking if Crowley would prefer noodles or fried rice when ordering from the Chinese restaurant across town.

“Pardon?” Crowley says, polite as the queen asking for more sugar in her tea.

“Well, it doesn’t have to be video games. In fact, I’m fairly certain I won’t like those, but there are so many delightful human inventions that I’m sure I’d love as much as food or sex.”

Crowley makes an embarrassing noise.

As if Aziraphale hasn’t just gutted Crowley, he continues, “And I would so like to try them with you. Everything is much more fun with a partner and being with you is particularly enjoyable. Especially without that whole heaven and hell hanging over us issue.”

“Right yes.”

“Let’s go to bed my dear. I’d very much like to be inside you and I doubt either of our corporations would appreciate fucking on the kitchen floor.”

“Fuck—” Crowley squeaks, “—ing?”

“Making love if you’d prefer,” Aziraphale says, rolling his eyes. “Really Crowley. You’d think you’d be more accustomed to discussing the act at this point.”

Aziraphale helps him stand—his muscles are still fairly loose—and practically drags him to the bedroom.

Something inside Crowley snaps when Aziraphale begins to push him down on the bed. His angel _ loves _him. Which—it’s like Christmas come early.

Well it would be if demons celebrated Christmas. But Crowley imagines its what it would be like if Christmas came early.

Instead of letting Aziraphale push him down onto the bed, he puts his hands on the angel’s waist and stops him, dropping his head to Aziraphale’s shoulder and breathing deeply.

“Are you alright my dear? Do we need to slow down?”

“Absolutely not,” Crowley says, but he presses a slow kiss to Aziraphale’s collarbone and then the juncture of his neck. Wanting to remember this moment forever, Crowley stops again and closes his eyes, savoring the feeling of Aziraphale’s body pressed against his, the heat of his bare skin.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Aziraphale says, now sounding worried.

“Yes,” Crowley says. It’s an effort to get the words out. “I’m having a lot of feelings. Nice feelings. How do you live like this?”

Aziraphale chuckles and Crowley feels it rumble through him. “You do get used to it.”

“Never,” Crowley says, petulant and disbelieving in equal measure. He can’t even imagine.

“Why don’t you kiss me and I can make you feel even better?”

Kissing Aziraphale feels something like relief, an outlet for all the...feelings inside himself. The knowledge that this isn’t just some activity for Aziraphale, one of his new interests, but rather an opportunity to express his affection makes Crowley’s heart race. The arousal he’s felt before is even more intense because now he knows it _ means _ something. 

Before he can say anything else, he’s on his back on the bed, Aziraphale crawling over him with a focused look on his face. “I’m going to prepare you now,” he says and his silly announcements don’t send the same flash of embarrassment through Crowley. It turns him on.

Ah fuck.

He can’t think about the implications of that too long because soon Aziraphale is distracting him with his hands and his mouth and then Aziraphale is on top of him and inside him and the steady weight of his body makes Crowley feel safe. He loves it.

“You feel so good, sweetheart. My beautiful darling,” Aziraphale murmurs into his neck and then some awful, sweet emotion threatens to choke the air from Crowley’s lungs.

Crowley doesn’t come again but when Aziraphale does it feels almost as good. He closes his eyes and let’s Aziraphale take care of him, cleaning him up with delicate motions. 

Settling in next to him, Aziraphale rolls on his side and props himself up on one hand. “So what should our next activity be?”

“You said video games,” Crowley says, rolling onto his own side to face Aziraphale.

“That was just an example,” Aziraphale replies with a scowl.

“No. I want to do video games.”

He knows Aziraphale will hate it and he can’t wait.

“Fine. But you have to procure the necessary materials.”

Crowley is already making a list in his head. “Of course, angel,” he says, sugary sweet.

Aziraphale’s face screws up and it’s so adorable that Crowley leans over and kisses him. “You’re beautiful, you know. I’ve always thought so.”

Immediately, Aziraphale’s eyes start to glisten and Crowley pulls away. “No! Don’t cry. That’s not—”

“But, Crowley,” Aziraphale says and then he sniffs. “That’s so nice.”

“Argh,” Crowley groans, flopping onto his back. “See if I ever compliment you again.”

Throwing an arm over Crowley’s chest, Aziraphale scoots closer and puts his head on his shoulder, curls tickling Crowley’s chin. “Whatever you say.”

**

Crowley gets an Xbox and has a delightful time forcing Aziraphale to play Call of Duty.

“I don’t see why I have to shoot people. It seems needlessly violent,” Aziraphale says staring at his controller in consternation as his character is killed on the screen—again.

“It’s just a game, Aziraphale,” Crowley says. He’s doing a great job. There are more fun things to do in the world but he’s not about to half ass this. 

So far they’ve played Call of Duty, Halo, and a Star Wars game where the objective is to take over planets. Aziraphale has hated them all. What he doesn’t know is that Crowley has also purchased a farming game that he is 90% certain Aziraphale is going to fall in love with.

But he has a little more torturing to do.

“Why are we doing this again?” Aziraphale says, tossing his controller aside when they lose another level.

“We do your sex things and now we’re doing my video game things,” Crowley says before he stands up to eject the disk. He’s getting used to life without miracles, doing all these boring things like manually setting up electronics and cooking. He likes cooking. Well, Aziraphale likes the results of his cooking so he likes cooking.

“It’s _ our _ sex thing and this is different. We both enjoy that.”

Aziraphale’s intense enthusiasm from the first few days of their physical relationship has waned. Crowley doesn’t think he’s bored, not exactly, but he does think of that list Aziraphale showed him and that perhaps the angel is trying to slow down for his sake. Though, the more they have sex, the more Crowley starts to think about that little box under Aziraphale’s bed and the things inside them. All those things he wanted to try with Crowley because he _loved _him.

Aziraphale had said that he loved Crowley.

Well sort of. Aziraphale hadn’t actually said the words. _ I love you _ . But he strongly implied it. He implied that they were _ in love with each other _ which, he’s not wrong on Crowley’s behalf even though he’s having trouble saying it back. Years of repressing the desire to say it had taken their toll. He _ wants _ to say but he can’t find the right time.

“Let’s try one more game and then we can stop. We have to give it the old college try,” Crowley needles and Aziraphale sighs but agrees.

“Another murdering, world conquering piece of nonsense?”

“Not exactly.”

**

“Look at my cows, Crowley! They’re doing so well,” Aziraphale says proudly. 

“I told you that you’d like this,” Crowley says with a smirk as he continues mining ore to support Aziraphale’s love of gardening.

“What if we did this in real life?” Aziraphale asks when the day in the game ends. “Started a farm or something?”

Crowley scoffs. “You’d hate it. Moving out of the city.”

“How do you know? I’ve lived in cities for millennia now. A change could be nice.”

Crowley shakes his head as he turns off the game. “Let’s go get dinner, Aziraphale.”

The angel immediately brightens and starts chattering about a new Italian restaurant that they just have to try. Crowley obviously goes along. He’d follow Aziraphale anywhere.

**

Crowley trots into the bookshop the next day and finds Aziraphale at his desk, the angel making painstaking notes in a ledger as he glances between a book and his paper. He looks up over his glasses, face immediately shifting into a pleased expression. “Crowley! What a surprise.”

“A new bakery opened up next to my apartment,” Crowley says by way of explanation. “I picked up a slice of carrot cake. Thought you’d like it.”

Putting down his pen, Aziraphale says, “Oh that’s lovely. I have something for you as well.”

Crowley cocks his head. It’s not that he minds when Aziraphale gets him things it’s just that usually that’s what Crowley does, giving gifts. He likes the way the angel’s face lights up when Crowley hands over a treat or a trinket.

“Now don’t get upset but I did a little miracle,” Aziraphale begins and Crowley’s eyes widen. “Don’t look at me like that. It was a few days ago and I haven’t heard anything from Heaven so it’s obviously fine.”

“What did you do?” Crowley asks, exasperated as he drops the cake container onto Aziraphale’s desk. The angel eyes it hungrily and Crowley would laugh if he weren’t so frustrated.

“I switched my genitals.”

“You _ wasted a miracle on that _ ?” Crowley screeches. He knows Aziraphale is excited about trying all the things on his list—_vaginal orgasms_—but that is ridiculously stupid.

“It’s fine! I’ve been doing other ones but I didn’t want to tell you,” Aziraphale says petulantly.

“What?” His voice is getting even higher but he cannot _ believe _ this.

“I wanted to know what would happen. What? Were we going to be powerless forever?”

Crowley deflates. “I’m worried, alright? What if they decide to punish you? I’m not always around to help protect you and even if I were—”

Aziraphale gasps, obviously struck by some idea. “What if you were? You should move in.”

“Move in?”

“Yes, of course! You can have the spare bedroom if you’d like your own space, though obviously you’re always welcome in my bed. The porch off the kitchen gets fantastic light and would be perfect for your plants. This is a marvelous idea,” Aziraphale says, clapping his hands together in delight.

Crowley blinks.

Should he move in? They do spend all their time together. The thought of waking up and having Aziraphale _ right there _ is very appealing. Crowley could worry less about what the blasted angel is getting up to. 

“Alright. Yeah. Let’s do it,” he says, still thinking through all the possibilities. They'll probably fight something fierce.

Aziraphale beams at him.

Crowley narrows his eyes and jabs his finger at Aziraphale. “If you’re using miracles again then you’re helping me move.”


	6. Chapter 6

Crowley stands in the doorway to Aziraphale’s “spare room” and then looks back at the angel. “How do you have _ more _ books?”

Aziraphale bustles past him, picking up several books from one stack and moving them to another, effectively redistributing the mess and doing nothing at all. “One can never have too many books.”

“One _ can _ and in this case ‘one’ is _ you_.”

Continuing to pick his way through the maze of books, Aziraphale ignores him.

Crowley absentmindedly picks up a book from the top of the stack and looks at the title: _ Pertinent Birds in Great Britain. _He puts it back down. “What are these? Not your usual quality I think,” Crowley says, spying a ripped up, not very old Dickens to his left.

Standing up straight, Aziraphale clutches a book to his chest. “These are just some things I’ve picked up through the years. Rummage sales. Fifth editions. Books I need to fix.”

“But you _ haven’t _fixed them. And if they’re worthless, why do you keep them?”

Aziraphale looks around him dejectedly. “I suppose I should get rid of some of them. I don’t rightly need six copies of Jane Eyre.”

“You definitely don’t,” Crowley says, carefully stepping around the stacks and coming up to Aziraphale’s side. He looks very concerned, which Crowley doesn’t like at all. He wants to reach out and take his hand but awkward declarations of feelings aside, Crowley has no idea what their relationship actually is and if affectionate gestures like that are allowed. “I can’t—and don’t want to—move in to a pile of books.”

Aziraphale bites his lip and looks around mournfully.

“But, I also don’t have to move in. I could get a flat nearby and you could keep the books and nothing would really change. That’s fine too,” Crowley says, stuffing his hands into his too-small pockets because he has no idea what to do with them.

Aziraphale sighs and squares his shoulders. “No. I asked you to move in. And I _ want _you to move in. You’re more important than books.”

Shifting immediately from distress to determination, Aziraphale snaps his fingers and several boxes appear. “I believe I can donate most of these. The rest can go downstairs.”

“You don’t have room downstairs,” Crowley says, the words leaving him without him really thinking. He’s still stuck on _ you’re more important than books_. 

“I’ll find room,” Aziraphale sniffs before he starts to stack books into the boxes.

After Crowley lectured him on his careless miracle use, Aziraphale had explained that he had started testing the waters by doing good deeds, thinking that such a use of power wouldn’t cause any attention because that’s what miracles were for. When nothing came of it, he escalated to using his powers to summon small things around the shop. Still nothing. Then he started summoning larger things, bending reality here and there a little, once convincing a woman that she left the shop with the book she had been haggling over while it stayed firmly on Aziraphale’s counter.

And Heaven had never made an appearance. Hadn’t even sent a letter.

That had made Crowley relax a bit. He’s still miffed that Aziraphale had disregarded their agreement and let Crowley flounder, powerless, for months. He really could be a bastard.

_You love_ _it_, the little irritating voice in Crowley’s head whispers. The thought doesn’t terrify him the way it used to.

Looking across the room at Aziraphale where he’s kneeling, muttering to himself as he continues packing away his books, Crowley makes a decision, marching to Aziraphale’s side and decidedly leaning over over to kiss him. He misses a little, catching the corner of the angel’s mouth and part of his nose, but Aziraphale still smiles when Crowley pulls away. 

“What was that for, my dear?” Aziraphale asks, blinking up at him. Crowley’s face is burning but this is it, what he’s wanted for so long. He has to get over his embarrassment and show Aziraphale how he feels.

And hopefully say it eventually.

“I, er, just wanted to.”

Aziraphale tugs on Crowley’s shirt until he leans over again and surges up to kiss him properly, it makes Crowley’s neck hurt because the angle is awful but it’s also amazing so he doesn’t stop until Aziraphale pulls back. “More of that later please,” Aziraphale says, turning back to his cardboard box. “But no more distractions. Either help me with the books or make trouble elsewhere.”

Crowley helps with the books.

**

Aziraphale sits on the edge of Crowley’s bed, glaring at him, as he snaps his fingers again and a few more items appear in the room. 

They—well Aziraphale—had summoned the bed first and was slowly migrating all the things Crowley wanted to keep from his old apartment into his bedroom. His decorations were most important to him and then his plants which Aziraphale had unceremoniously summoned into the corner and then just looked at him archly when Crowley complained. Fine, he could move them up to the terrace himself.

When Aziraphale called the statue from his foyer—the fighting angel and demon one, yes they were naked but so what, it was funny—he had smirked at Crowley so fiercely that Crowley had to leave the room lest he combust from embarrassment. 

“Is that the last of it?” Aziraphales asks, looking very pretty on Crowley’s black duvet. It’s nice being able to admit to himself how pretty he thinks Aziraphale is. How much he wants to hold him.

Crowley surveys the room. “Yeah I think so.”

“Come here then,” Aziraphale says, beckoning Crowley to come sit beside him and then indicating for them to lay against the headboard. The angel tugs him against his side and they sit like that for a while in silence, Aziraphale playing with the seams of Crowley’s shirt and Crowley listening to the sound Aziraphale’s corporation’s heartbeat.

“I was thinking”—does Aziraphale sound _ nervous? _He never sounds nervous anymore—“We could go to dinner tomorrow. The Ritz? We haven’t been in a while.”

That could be good. They had slowed down on going to restaurants. Aziraphale had developed an appetite for staying in and slowly taking Crowley apart with his hands and mouth and by the time they finished most of the restaurants were closed anyway.

“Sure thing, angel. Sounds nice,” he says, closing his eyes to rest. He’s _ comfortable _ and _ warm _ and he loves it.

**

Aziraphale is being shifty.

It’s making something cold settle into Crowley’s belly. He hasn’t felt this nervous since Aziraphale had said that he loved him and he's honestly forgotten how awful it felt.

“Is everything, er, alright, Aziraphale?” Crowley says after the waiter leaves them alone with their wine. He doesn’t want to ask, afraid this might be the moment where Aziraphale asks for space. _ Too fast _ or some other excuse that Crowley could replay in his head for years. They haven’t had sex since the vagina incident but the angel is still affectionate. So he probably isn’t going to dump him.

And now his palms are sweating again.

“Yes, of course. It’s just...” Aziraphale begins before slipping his hand into the pocket of his coat and fiddling with something. “I got you something. For our anniversary.”

That pudding feeling is back and Crowley tries desperately to hold on to reality and figure out what the fuck Aziraphale thinks is happening at this very moment. “Anniversary?” His voice is more squeak than anything but he thinks Aziraphale understands.

“Ah, I suppose you might not think of it as such but it’s been six months since our first real date and I wanted to celebrate. It’s been an awfully long time coming. You don’t have to feel bad if you didn’t get me anything. I’m hoping you’ll like what I’ve gotten,” Aziraphale says, slipping a box onto the table. It’s a small thing, wrapped in cream and gold.

And suddenly it’s too much for Crowley. He’s kept his mouth shut, trying to be happy with the whole we-have-sex-now-and-Aziraphale-said-once-that-we’re-in-love-so-that’s-cool thing. 

“First real date? What? When do you think we started _ dating? _”

Aziraphale sits up in his chair and blinks. “What have we been...doing then? You asked me to lunch and I said yes and we sat at this very table. We’ve been in love for centuries. I thought—”

“What?’ Crowley chokes. “Centuries?”

Aziraphale’s mouth drops open and his faces drains of color. “Are you not—oh, dear, did I misunderstand? Have I been—”

The angel gasps as his eyes go wide. 

“I’ve been taking advantage of you,” he hisses, leaning over the table. “I thought you were just shy. Not saying how you felt but…” The angel takes a deep breath as if steadying himself. “That’s alright. I do love you. But I don’t expect anything. I’m so sorry. We can, er, slow down...or—or go back to how things were?”

“No!” Crowley cries, reaching out and grabbing Aziraphale’s hand. “I—ah fuck, you—you didn’t misunderstand. I just didn’t think you knew.”

Aziraphale visibly relaxes. “Of course I knew. I thought we both knew!”

“I didn’t!”

“This is very silly,” Aziraphale admonishes. They fall silent for a moment when the waiter arrives to place their food in front of them, both a little embarrassed as the reality of the situation sets in.

Crowley picks at his food, knowing he’s going to let Aziraphale eat most of it, like he always does. “I love you too,” he mumbles into his chicken.

Aziraphale doesn’t respond so Crowley peeks at him out of the corner of his eye and he sees that the angel is smiling. “Thank you for saying it. I didn’t think it would be quite so nice to hear.”

Nudging at the gift on the table, Aziraphale says, “Open it? If you don’t like it, we can figure something else out.”

Crowley plucks at the ribbon and pulls off the paper, inside is a small box with a set of sunglasses inside, metal snakes wound down the sides of the frame.

“I had them specially made. I thought you couldn’t have too many. Sunglasses that is.”

Feeling very full all of a sudden, Crowley snaps the box shut and swallows. Stupid angel, making him feel like he might cry. “Thank you,” he says, as earnestly as he knows how. Which isn’t very much.

Aziraphale gives him a watery smile and reaches out to squeeze his hand. “Should this be our anniversary then?”

Crowley shrugs. “It’s as good a day as any.”

Aziraphale scoffs. “Oh stop it, Crowley, you’re so romantic, I can’t stand it,” he says with a roll of his eyes.

Crowley shakes his head. “I can’t believe you assumed we were dating because I took you to lunch.”

Aziraphale ignores him in favor of focusing on his meal and they’re silent for a moment before Aziraphale says, “So, as I mentioned last week, I have a vagina now and I’d very much like for you to penetrate me at some point this evening. I was saving it for our anniversary.”

Crowley splutters, surely looking disgusting as his bite of chicken falls from his mouth. He’s gotten better at handling the clinical sex conversations but sometimes, when Aziraphale surprises him, he still has to take a moment to adjust. And pretend it doesn't send a thrill through his entire body. Aziraphale absolutely can _ never _ know exactly what these little conversations do to Crowley.

Though he thinks Aziraphale might suspect and keeps doing it just to rile him up.

**

Aziraphale pushes Crowley’s jacket from his shoulders, looking very bright-eyed as he closes the bedroom door behind him.

“Your bed is much more comfortable than mine so I’m rather excited it's so easily available now,” he notes as he tugs off his bow tie. 

Hesitantly reaching out and pulling on one of the ends, the scrap of fabric falls into Crowley’s hand and he looks down at it, again struck by how strange it is to be here, to have this happen.

Crowley shakes himself and pulls off his own shirt, even as Aziraphale is still in his undershirt and trousers. His hands pause on his zipper and he says, “You better take off your socks before we get in that bed.”

Aziraphale huffs but tugs off his shoes and socks before, without fanfare, pushing Crowley onto the bed and crawling over him. “You looked very beautiful tonight,” he says as he plucks Crowley’s sunglasses from his face and tosses them onto the side table where they clatter precariously.

Crowley’s heart thumps out an unfamiliar rhythm and he says, “I was dressed the way I always am.”

“Well, you always look beautiful,” Aziraphale says simply, ducking his head to kiss his way across Crowley’s collarbone. 

Crowley sucks in a breath. Then there are fingers fumbling at the buttons of his trousers and Aziraphale is talking again in that clinical way of his, sending shivers over Crowley’s scalp as he tries to focus. “I understand that vaginas are a little bit more difficult to pleasure than penises so we may need to practice. Also, you’ve never used your penis in this manner so there really are a lot of moving pieces.”

He unzips Crowley’s pants and starts to pull them off.

Trying to sit up even while Aziraphale is fiddling with the fabric of his jeans, Crowley asks, “Shouldn’t I, er, start with my hands or something? That’s what we do with the...other stuff.”

“It's called foreplay, my dear.” Aziraphale sits up and surveys his work, Crowley stretched out naked on the bed. “Is there a way you’d like to start?”

Aziraphale looks at him expectantly so Crowley hesitantly reaches out and pushes the angel onto his back before he undoes the buttons of his trousers. “You might have to be a little more clear on what you want...this time. Or in general with this whole...vagina thing.”

“Absolutely. I know how much you like it when I talk during intercourse. Perhaps that will help you with your arousal. Make sure this does something for you as well.”

Crowley’s hand is halfway into Aziraphale’s boxers but he has to pause and press his nose into Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Do you think it doesn’t always do something for me?”

“I _know_ it does. But this is a different set of genitals so perhaps your preferences will be affected.”

“My preference is you, you loon. Genitals aside.”

“Oh.”

And for at least a moment, Aziraphale shuts up, eyes going so soft that Crowley has to force himself not to look away. “I love you very much,” the angel says as his hand comes up to brush over Crowley’s cheekbone.

Crowley presses a kiss to his wrist and while he wants to say it back, it’s still a little much so instead he leans down and presses open-mouthed kisses over the sliver of hip exposed between Aziraphale’s undershirt and the waistband of his boxers. 

Aziraphale gasps and says, “Oh! I think that makes me wet. How very strange.”

Stalwartly staring at Aziraphale’s knees, Crowley pulls off his trousers and boxers in one go, only to stop abruptly because while he’d _ known _ Aziraphale traded his penis for a vagina it is still strange to see the way his dark blonde pubic hair doesn’t curl down and fade but instead thicken and disappear between his legs with nothing to interrupt it. 

Curiosity getting the better of him, Crowley shuffles up and straddles one of Aziraphale’s thighs, reaching out with one hand to trace over the folds. He sucks in a breath.

“Is it alright?” Aziraphale asks, sounding breathless and somehow worried.

“Yeah. ‘Course. Just...different,” Crowley says, slipping his finger inside and marveling at how hot it is. Of course Aziraphale would be as warm on the inside as he is on the outside. And just as soft.

The angel gasps and it’s so completely different than his normal noises that Crowley stops moving his hand and stares down at him in surprise. Eyes snapping open, Aziraphale’s nostrils flare. “Why are you stopping?”

“Do you, erm, like it?” Crowley asks, tentatively beginning to move his hand again.

“Oh yes. It’s delightful,” Aziraphale says, eyes drifting shut as he licks his lips. 

Running a hand up under Aziraphale’s shirt to knead at the flesh of his stomach, Crowley continues the movements of his hand, drinking in every sound Aziraphale makes. 

“Do you know what the clitoris is?” Aziraphale asks, startling Crowley from where he’s busy staring at the way his finger disappears into Aziraphale’s body. 

“Erm,” Crowley says, pulling his hand back.

Aziraphale grabs his wrist and maneuvers his hand to the top of the slit between his thighs. “It’s the female pleasure center—”

Feeling the bundle of flesh under his thumb, Crowley rubs it experimentally and Aziraphale’s hips jerk up against his hand. _ Interesting_.

He does it again and gets the same response. _ Very interesting_.

Lifting himself up, he spreads Aziraphale’s thighs and comes down between them, nuzzling against his inner thigh as he hears Aziraphale’s shakey inhales. This is _ good_. Is it what Aziraphale feels like when he takes Crowley apart?

Pushing Aziraphale’s thighs further open, he tilts his head when he sees the flash of shiny pink flesh between the curling hair. He gives it a tentative lick and Aziraphale’s body jerks again.

Feeling very pleased by this turn of events, Crowley settles in. He has plans now. He knows what he’s about and what he’s about is seeing his angel as wrung out as he’s felt after some of Aziraphale’s more inspired ministrations. That time in the kitchen was particularly memorable.

This was going to be better if Crowley has anything to say about it. Which, while he might not have much skill, he has plenty of enthusiasm and the stamina of an immortal being so...he’ll figure things out.

Aziraphale still smells like brandy but now its heady and powerful and full of a musk Crowley’s entirely unfamiliar with. He licks at the place where his fingers had been and is rewarded by Aziraphale’s hands sinking into his hair. 

Wondering if the same principles of blow jobs apply to vaginas, Crowley sucks experimentally and the fingers tighten to the point of pain as Aziraphale makes a noise Crowley could tentatively categorize as a sob.

Alright then.

He wishes for a moment he could use his powers without risking hell’s wrath because he’s pretty sure he could do something with his tongue that might make Aziraphale pass out.

Instead he continues steadily licking and periodically sucking and he adds his finger back into the mix and its pretty great if he says so himself because Aziraphale is wriggling against the pillows something fierce and when Crowley sneaks a look up at the angel his face is terribly pink and his lips are bitten to within an inch of their life which makes Crowley _very_ hard.

There’s a fluttering around Crowley’s fingers and then he thinks Aziraphale might be trying to suffocate him with his pelvis as the angel jerks forward abruptly but then Crowley realizes that the noises Aziraphale is making means he’s orgasming which is so so very fantastic.

Aziraphale is breathing hard when Crowley comes up to kiss him, still stroking the folds between his legs carelessly and making the angel shudder.

“You stop that,” Aziraphale says, smacking at Crowley’s wrist even as he melts against him.

Crowley feels more like a demon than he has in a while when he kisses away Aziraphale’s protests and decidedly does not obey his request.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there shall be a short porny epilogue! thanks for sticking along for this very silly foray into pornography!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is literally just porn
> 
> please enjoy

Crowley sits against Aziraphale’s headboard and shifts again, tugging at the garter about his thigh and hoping that Aziraphale will come the fuck upstairs soon.

He’s put in all this effort and he doesn’t exactly love waiting.

It’s their second “anniversary” and while they’ve tried nearly everything on the list—Crowley has discovered the joy of vibrators, cock rings, dildos, nipple clamps, and butt plugs—a few things had yet to be crossed off.

And that’s how Crowley had found himself staring at a sea of black lace and leather trying to pick the thing that Aziraphale would like best.

Aziraphale’s comfort with miracles had not yet spread to Crowley and while he feels ok doing a few things—mostly mischief making and his normal demonic whatsits—conjuring a lingerie set seemed a bit risky. Last thing he needed was Beelzebub rolling into the bookshop and sneering over his choice of thigh high.

The mortifying ordeal of asking a shopgirl for help had resulted in a purchase of garters, fishnets, a tie up leather sort of corset thing that Crowley thinks has no right being called a corset. He wore one back in the day and they were much firmer.

It's topped off with a set of lace panties that are barely more than a scrap of fabric.

That had been on Aziraphale’s list. Crowley in lace.

So here Crowley is. In lace.

Waiting for his angel to come upstairs and get ready for the dinner date Crowley had set up in advance and hopefully find Crowley in his bed. Maybe Crowley will get to see that dopey, shiny-eyed look that Aziraphale sometimes gets when he’s _ very _ interested in doing something to Crowley. 

Which honestly Crowley honestly hopes he will be.

Even with all the things they've done his favorite is still when Aziraphale pushes him down on his back and slides into him, a heavy weight atop him, warm and steady as he moves his hips.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t love everything else: the mouths, the hands, Crowley had even tried his own vagina once which had been amazing but not as intense as the way Aziraphale could make him scream by angling his hips just right and twisting his wrist while stroking the head of his—

A sharp intake of breath draws Crowley’s attention and he’s very disappointed that he missed the way Aziraphale entered the room because now he’s frozen in the doorway with his hand on the door handle and steadily turning red.

“Crowley?” he asks, dreamlike.

“The one and only,” Crowley says with a smirk, more confident than he feels. It’s hard to feel confident when your balls are tucked up in satin and lace and the seams of your thigh highs are tugging at your leg hair.

Aziraphale takes a step forward and runs a hand through his hair, mussing it so that it stands straight up. Crowley wants to put his hands in it.

“Are you alright?” Crowley asks innocently, letting one leg fall to the side so that even more of his body is exposed. It feels silly but when Aziraphale makes a noise low in his throat, Crowley finds he doesn’t care.

Aziraphale approaches the bed and then lifts his hand, tentatively placing it on the exposed bone of Crowley’s hip where his corset doesn’t quite meet the line of his panties and then tracing the lace down to the crevice of his thigh. “Oh, my dear boy.”

As powerful as Crowley had felt moments before, he knows his upper hand slipping away as Aziraphale runs his hand down his thigh, plucking at the thin strap of his garter with his thumb before slipping his hand under Crowley’s knee and sliding it down to his ankle. Crowley shivers.

“Happy anniversary,” Crowley chokes out. Aziraphale smiles at him softly and then he steps away from the bed, shrugging out of his coat and then rolling up his sleeves with such intense focus that it sends a jolt of arousal through Crowley who knows exactly what that focus means.

“I am going to take you apart piece by piece until you beg me to stop,” Aziraphale says and yes, he still says embarrassing things in bed but sometimes, he also says things like this, things that make Crowley feel the need to stand at attention and obey.

“Right,” Crowley says, really not able to think of any other response.

“Lay back for me,” Aziraphale says as he takes a seat on the foot of the bed and Crowley scrambles to do as he says, eyes not leaving the angel’s the entire time. Ah fuck he’s so hard. He wonders if Aziraphale can see the line of his cock through the thin lace of his underwear.

“I love you,” Aziraphale says, lifting Crowley’s hand to his lips and brushing a kiss over the sensitive skin of his inner wrist.

Crowley’s gotten better at saying the words even if it’s sometimes like yanking out a stubborn tooth. But despite Crowley’s difficulties, Aziraphale says it all the time. He says it when Crowley rolls out of bed in the morning, when Crowley comes home from his demonic misadventures, when Aziraphale places tea at his elbow and kisses his cheek.

Coming up to straddle Crowley’s thigh, there’s something wildly exciting about Aziraphale, fully clothed, staring down at Crowley’s body like he can’t decide where to start. Then he runs an inquisitive thumb over the dip of Crowley’s collarbone and brings his hand down his chest until it meets the corset, tangling in the laces and tugging.

The pressure against his ribs makes his heart kick in his chest and then Aziraphale’s mouth is on his, tongue swiping over his just the way that make his knees go weak. The hand that isn't lifting him by his corset has dipped even lower, stroking over the lacy fabric covering his cock with delicate fingers. It’s not enough and Aziraphale knows it.

He smiles against Crowley’s mouth when the demon whines. 

“Not yet,” Aziraphale says, teasing as he dips down to bite that spot under Crowley’s ear that always makes his foot twitch because it feels _ so good_.

Pulling away, Aziraphale looks down at him, heavy-lidded and very pleased, and Crowley can’t do anything but stare back, because his body’s no longer working.

“Perhaps I’d like you to pleasure me first,” he says, cocking his head. “Would you like that? You’d look so pretty on your knees.”

It’s all Crowley can do to nod enthusiastically, if he let’s Aziraphale fuck his mouth then Aziraphale will say all sorts of things that Crowley loves hearing. Things like _ my love _ and _ sweetheart _ and _ your mouth, dear God, Crowley, your mouth_.

He likes when Aziraphale takes the Almighty's name in vain.

Fingers still wrapped tightly in the laces of Crowley’s corset, Aziraphale pulls him out of bed, pushing Crowley to his knees on the floor while Aziraphale takes his seat, legs spread, waiting.

Cool as anything, Aziraphale releases Crowley, hand going to his own trousers to unbuckle, unzip, and wait.

Not waiting to be asked, Crowley shuffles forward and takes Aziraphale as deep as he can, savoring the taste of precome as the head slides over his tongue. Immediately, Aziraphale’s hand grips his hair, which Crowley _ loves_, and then the words are tumbling out of his mouth like they always do.

“My dear boy, so good. You’re so good to me. Your mouth. Your hands. Beautiful.”

Crowley’s whole body tingles at the praise and he does something particularly inspired with his tongue because he knows Aziraphale is close. To his surprise, the angel pushes him off. “I want to come on you.”

Crowley’s vision blurs. They haven’t done _ that _ before. He licks his lips as one of Aziraphale’s hands sinks into his hair and the other fists around his cock and then there’s warm liquid on his chest, dripping down his corset, which he only has a moment to question before he’s being tossed on the bed unceremoniously. 

They’re going to have to wash the sheets.

Aziraphale’s hand is shaking — Yes! — while he undoes the laces of the corset, letting the garment fall to the sides of Crowley’s chest and then exploring the divots of his ribs, his sternum, playing over his nipples before he leans down and licks away the single stripe of come on Crowley’s collarbone. 

By the time he sits back, Crowley is keening beneath him, feeling rather desperate for friction, for anything. Aziraphale's fingers dance over the lace of his knickers. “I’m loathe to remove these. They look so lovely.”

“Take them the fuck off, angel,” Crowley says, surprised he can string so many words together.

Cocking an eyebrow, Aziraphale snaps his fingers and the panties disappear. “Fine but the garters stay.”

“Whatever you want. Just — just…”

“Yes, my dear,” Aziraphale says and then he kisses him, the taste of his come bitter over Crowley’s tongue but fuck, it’s so hot and he wants Aziraphale inside him immediately.

Aziraphale’s hands are firm as he prepares Crowley and then there’s a tongue beside the fingers, two three who knows, and Crowley isn’t paying attention to anything anymore until the slick slide burn of Aziraphale pressing into him.

It’s fast and sweaty and open-mouthed gasps and Crowley’s pretty sure Aziraphale rips a hole in his fishnets when he tries to grip Crowley’s knee to adjust the angle. 

“Please, Aziraphale, please,” Crowley says into Aziraphale’s mouth when he purposefully slows his thrusts. Crowley loves how he can feel the bump of Aziraphale’s belly on the back of his thighs, the grip of his fingers on his hip as he tilts Crowley up.

“You have to say it,” Aziraphale says.

The torturous bastard.

He thrusts in and Crowley doesn’t care at all about how stupid he’s going to sound. “I want to come. Please.”

“Very good my dear,” Aziraphale says and then by some complicated maneuvar he sits back and takes Crowley into his lap with him, guiding Crowley’s hips up and down. “Fuck me however you like. I’ll take care of you.”

Hnggggg.

Crowley does his best to comply but it’s awfully distracting the way that Aziraphale’s hand moves just right over his cock, and his orgasm stutters out of him suddenly, shocking a gasp from his lungs.

Aziraphale continues to thrust up into him, disregarding his oversensitive cries and biting that place on his neck until Crowley thinks he might be sobbing. It’s awful in the best way.

The movement of Aziraphale’s hips slow as chokes out his own release and now they’re just breathing into each other, the huffing heat of their mouths entirely familiar and yet still so thrilling.

Crowley crawls out of Aziraphale’s lap and falls onto his back, strongly considering a miracle to clean himself up. He feels so utterly debauched — and he likes it so much — that he’s not sure his powers would do any good.

Aziraphale curls up next to him and rests his head on Crowley’s chest, disregarding the come-stained flaps of his corset and the general grossness that is the bed.

“So are we still on for dinner or…”

Crowley snorts into Aziraphale’s hair and says, “Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: i found a fic that is SUPER similar to this one so if you liked my premise i highly recommend giving it a read  
https://archiveofourown.org/works/20168632/chapters/47783761


End file.
